


looking for freedom

by tokkiui



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dystopia, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokkiui/pseuds/tokkiui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the world where dreams and fiction have been prohibited, a simple sheet of paper and a pen can truly do miracles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking for freedom

**Author's Note:**

> ...i don't even know what is this so let's skip the introductions, shall we.
> 
> originally written for dashidorawa's 2013 infinite secret santa.

it has been such a long time, woohyun thinks to himself as he slowly, almost hesitantly, reaches for a blank page lying at the desk before him. his fingers gently caress the surface of the paper, relishing in its unique texture, its color not exactly white but slightly yellowish around the corners, an obvious sign that it has been kept, stored somewhere unused for years.  
  
until today.  
  
in his left hand he is experimentally holding a pen, taking his time to get used to its shape again, feel its unique structure between his fingers, so foreign yet so familiar at the same time that it somehow makes him uncomfortable. deep inside he knows, though, that the feeling of uneasiness is acceptable, especially here, especially now - writing is not needed in this world, more than that, it is prohibited and everyone who has been caught doing it never came back to the block afterwards.  
  
no matter how hard he tries, woohyun can’t even remember the last time the hellhounds took someone. everyone gave up, in the end.  
after a few long seconds, he finally presses the tip of the pen against the paper, his hands shaking as he scrawls erratically, black ink filling the blank page.  
  
‘my name is nam woohyun.’  
  
it is crooked and ugly, resembling more a child’s first attempts at writing, total opposite of what his handwriting used to be a long time ago, in what feels now like a different world, different universe. however, this simple phrase, as awful as it looks, makes him smile happily because this– this is enough. he is writing, leaving a trace of his existence on the sacred paper, and even though his actions are a thread against each and every rule of the hell he is living in, woohyun can’t care less.  
  
‘i live in block c of district twenty-seven, fifth floor, room eight. i’ve spent here the last ten years of my life.’  
he hesitates and bites his lip nervously, pondering over the next phrase; because if he writes it down, it will become so much more real and so much more scary than it already is.  
  
‘i am trapped here.’

\- o -

  
  
'it's a blank page.'  
  
he stares at the paper in his hands, a small frown on his face indicating his uneasiness and obvious bewilderment. not knowing what to do with the unexpected gift, he looks up to the other's eyes again, as if searching for any kind of explanation. unfortunately, myungsoo's face is just as calm and unreadable as ever, only a small grin curving his lips clearly marking his amusement.  
  
'for now, it is.'  
  
at the short, vague reply, exactly the one that he could expect from myungsoo, woohyun huffs loudly, an ugly grimace contorting his usually handsome features. even though he normally - miraculously, as he likes to think - manages not to lash out at the younger boy, today is not the best day to test his patience. the other should know better than to tease him like that, especially when he is one of few people fully aware of the fact that the number of lines angrily carved on the walls of woohyun's room, each of them representing one day he had to spend in this place, reached 3650.  
  
3650 days. ten full years of being locked up in block c and slowly going crazy.  
  
'don't fuck with me, kim, and tell me what the hell do you want from me,' he spats out in frustration, his voice low and dangerous. 'or if you don't have anything intelligent to say, just fuck off already, i am not in the m–'  
  
'the world,' the other mumbles sheepishly, whole body screaming about his utter displeasure for woohyun's degenerating tone. 'this is the world. and i want to give it to you.'  
  
woohyun falls silent for a long moment, the other boy's words catching him off guard. myungsoo, on the other hand, simply smiles a bit wider, the dimples in his cheeks making him look even younger than he normally does - and if it wasn't for the surprising present, the older male would surely make fun of him and his childish yet handsome looks, such a rarity among the people of their block.  
  
'i don't get it.' woohyun's earlier annoyance now turning into sheer puzzlement; he shuffles closer to the other male, his voice now softer, more careful, as if myungsoo is going to burden him with a dangerous secret. for a brief moment, he takes a nervous glance at the entrance of their block while holding the paper even tighter, almost like he is trying to hide it from all the possible intruders that might be walking down the same corridor. 'what do you mean?'  
  
the younger boy's eyes light up with glee as he continues, grabbing woohyun’s hand and— ‘no,’ the older male mutters quietly, his heart skipping a beat as myungsoo quickly passes him one of the writing utensils, pen probably, a treasure that no one is allowed to posses. he holds the small object in his fist, looking at now anxious boy; he can’t believe that this is really happening. 'i've found this in the block c general supervisor's trash,’ black-haired male adds in a whisper, his tone bordering between apologetic and slightly scared. ‘and you once told me—‘  
  
‘stop it.’ woohyun’s short reply leaves no room for arguing. danger, this conversation screams of danger and myungsoo should know it. ‘go back. they will be here soon.’  
  
without further ado, he turns around and abandons the younger boy; he quickly disappears in the door of his room, still clutching at the unexpected gifts he got from the other, trying to hide them in the sleeve of his uniform  
.  
as the iron barricade closes behind him, he hopes that myungsoo knows how grateful he is.

\- o -

  
woohyun was one of the few people who knew how life was like before the ‘final containment’, as he himself got used to calling the time before the government decided to forcefully move everyone into artificially established blocks and districts, restraining their freedom to the very minimum. reasons for this breach of human rights, obviously, were all just lies, made up during the never-ending world war v; citizens’ safety, overcoming the market crisis, focus on the most important points of socio-economical life, advantages for everyone. people believed in that because what else could they do.  
  
drastic times, drastic measures.  
  
that was when a nineteen year old nam woohyun, young aspiring writer full of dreams and hopes for the future, ended up in block c, away from everyone and everything he loved.  
  
walking out of the buildings was prohibited. social contacts were limited to the necessary minimum. in order not to distract workers from doing their job, all kinds of cultural material was banned. their rooms were more like prisoners’ cells, deprived of everything that made them personal.  
  
yet what hurt woohyun the most was the lack of words.  
  
when he first met myungsoo, around three years later, the younger boy was even more lost and vulnerable than he has ever been. it was understandable, though, because even nowadays there still is some kind of delicacy in him, softness that has always been absent in woohyun. the older was able to sense that almost immediately after the terrified boy got the room just next to him, room number seven; because myungsoo needs people. being alone is something against his nature.  
  
so woohyun doesn’t let him be alone. in the short moments between work and sleep, during the breaks for food, he tells him all about the sky and clouds and the worlds different from their own, the ones that exist only in his mind. he also tells him about books and letters, and the  
younger’s already big eyes widen even more in surprise, as he tries to imagine whatever woohyun is talking about.  
  
he remembers everything, though, each and every piece of information the older male shared with him, and that’s why this one day, he steals the writing utensils to make it real – to make woohyun’s worlds real.

\- o -

  
the day he receives the pen, woohyun only manages to write down the four sentences about himself – because the possibilities are endless and he only has this small limited space, one sheet of paper, so he doesn’t dare to scribble down more without thinking it through. he’s so high on emotions, his heart feels like it is going to burst out of his chest if he doesn’t calm down.  
  
he goes to sleep, the paper safely hidden in his mattress, pen attached to the rim of his sleeping uniform. for the first time, he dreams of his hometown.

\- o -

  
it takes woohyun another day to write the first paragraph.  
  
it is the only thing that keeps him go forward through the whole day, the promise of writing down anything he would like to when he is back to the safety of his own cell. as he is almost mindlessly pushing the colorful buttons at work, he tries to remember his childhood, all of its sounds, flavors, fragrances, sights, structures, so that the memories could be later turned into the text. there was the ocean, he is sure of it, turquoise and aquamarine mixing together, faint taste of salt on his lips, waves hitting his feet, sand, light – compared to blocks, so much more light.

woohyun wishes myungsoo could see this, the same image he has in his head.  
  
he doesn’t have much writing space, only one sheet of paper, so he tries to fit in as much as possible. it has been years since he last wrote anything, so the beginning feels awkward – the words are there, hidden somewhere within his reach and waiting to be discovered, but it takes some time for woohyun to neatly write them down so that they match.  
  
the first paragraph is a requiem for the nature.  
  
when he closes his eyes, tired after the hours spent on the searching for the right phrases and words, he swears he can feel the familiar breeze softly ruffling his hair. a small smile curves his lips as he shakes his head, not believing his own vivid imagination; there is nothing like wind here, inside the buildings.  
  
only then he opens his eyes and he is greeted by the sight of the vast ocean, the same ocean he has been writing about all along.

\- o -

  
woohyun quickly learns what it means to truly create.  
  
within the four walls of his room, he writes— no, he creates the images, sceneries from the past, visions of the future. as long as he doesn’t leave the cell, he is not in the gray, ugly, confined block anymore; he changes into the master of galaxies and universes, with eyes full of sunlight and tips of his fingers stained by the stardust.  
  
the questions are still there, though. why him, why now, how, there are no answers that woohyun knows of. he vaguely remembers, from what feels like eons ago, his mother and her stories about the powers that were beyond humanity’s reach. not everything can be explained with logic, he agrees after he has summoned his mother as well, his first human being, and somehow, this makes him both calmer and happier. sitting on top of a green, summer hill with her, various kinds of blooming flowers surrounding them, he says out loud the word ‘magic’ over and over again.  
  
it tastes sweet on his tongue.  
  
he has never laughed so much in his whole life.

  
\- o -

  
next time he leaves his room, his kingdom, there is still half of the page waiting to be filled with words.  
  
woohyun quickly finds myungsoo as the younger is getting ready for work, the dark circles under his eyes making him frown unvoluntarily.  
  
‘hyung,’ myungsoo doesn’t let him say anything and asks quietly instead. ‘where have you been?’  
  
the sudden question takes him by surprise and he doesn’t know how to answer.  
  
‘i…’ woohyun licks his lips nervously, pausing. ‘room. my room.’  
  
the black-haired boy shakes his head. ‘they have checked, hyung. hellhounds. one day ago, two, three, you weren’t inside.’  
  
they stand in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze, when woohyun asks in a whisper, loud enough to make myungsoo hear it.  
  
‘what if i told you i could be everywhere and nowhere at the same time?’  
  
finally, instead of work, they both disappear into woohyun’s room.

\- o -

  
when the hellhounds arrived, the whole block c could hear them.  
  
they came with the pointed clicks of their boots’ heels, the clash of weapon, clatter of their armour, and finally – the acrid smell of blood, urine, fear, death, a mixture that has everyone shivering and hoping that today is not their day. even though the years spent in the blocks reminded more of a sad existence, procrastination of demise than life itself but it was the most that the workers could get; and it is nothing new that the  
human race values survival the most, values it over everything else.  
  
so all of them sat still, perfectly quiet, praying and waiting for the soldiers to find the right room and be gone as soon as possible.  
in the silence of the early morning, the door to the room number eight has been opened and the legions of death entered to get their prey. however, everything that they could find was a piece of paper, full of scribbles, random sentences, words, small drawings. at the very end of it, though, two lines stood out, both of them written with more care than the rest.  
  
‘my name is nam woohyun.’  
  
‘his name is kim myungsoo.’  
  
underneath, the last words have been penned beautifully, the clear sharp letters almost radiating with energy and happiness of the one who had written them down.  
  
‘we are free.’

**Author's Note:**

> the only thing that can limit us is our own disbelief.


End file.
